


Mere Life, Love

by AKA_47



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, historical interludes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKA_47/pseuds/AKA_47
Summary: In the midst of a crisis, Will reminisces about his life with Victoria, determined to get her back. Trapped in her own mind, Victoria fights to return to him.





	Mere Life, Love

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched season 3 of The Man in the High Castle, decided to watch something lighter and settled for the first episode of Victoria, which culminated in this. The first chapter is entirely modern AU, but the second includes some historical interludes to explain Victoria's state of mind. 
> 
> Though I did live in the UK for a time, I am depressingly American, and so I apologize for any mistakes I may have made with regard to the hospital scenes. 
> 
> The title and chapter titles come from Elizabeth Barett Browning's, "Love"
> 
> Let me know what you think!

“I’m not crazy.” Victoria’s whisper was small and broken, so much worse than the screams had been. She strained to reach him, every muscle tensed, but the padded cuffs at her wrists rooted her to the bed. 

For just a moment, he almost said, “I know.” How easy it would have been to reassure her. It was what he wanted. More than anything, William wanted to undo the restraints, lift her into his arms and carry her away. But he couldn’t tell her that she wasn’t crazy, because for the first time in their relationship, he wasn’t sure that he believed her. 

“Will, please,” she begged, in a way that made him want to wretch. Her fingers fanned out as though searching for his. He didn’t move. He was as rooted as she. “I’ll do better. I promise, I’ll do better.” Still, a whisper, such a young girl’s voice. 

A girl who had just an hour before been kicking, shrieking, thrashing in his arms as he dragged her into the hospital. I’m the queen of England! Put me down! Did you not hear? I’m the queen! Her words reverberated in his ear. Insane, the sort of pomposity that he’d been trying to ignore for a week, little slips where she would lose herself and suddenly speak to him as though from a throne, as though she expected him to bow and see to her every whim. It had been cute. Until he realized it wasn’t a game. 

Will couldn’t think of anything to say. There was only his fear thrumming in his veins and he couldn’t voice that, there was no place for worries about him in any of this. He looked down at his arms, scratched and bloodied. Victoria might snap at him occasionally or stomp away, but always she would return or he would find her, sweet, ready for reconciliation. His Victoria had drawn blood, had truly hated him in that moment. No, not his Victoria. This deranged thing inside of her had lashed out, but it was his Victoria that reached for him now, and he could not bear it.

“Mr. Lamb, we’ll see to her now,” was it a nurse who spoke, or an angel of mercy? Will nodded, shifting his eyes up only briefly to catch a last look at Victoria before backing from the room. 

He’d had to commit the love of his life against her will, had to see her bound, knowing she would be drugged, poked and prodded, and he was the one who had done it to her. Will prided himself on being composed, but he stumbled to the lift, nearly collapsing against the wall as the doors slid to a close. “I’m sorry,” he said into the silence. “I’m so unbelievably sorry.” And he sobbed. 

\--

“For the love of all that is good, I need you to help me.” 

Will looked up from his drink and caught a glimpse of startling blue eyes, wide in their plea. The stage whisper was too full of mirth to cause any real alarm, and he glanced backward to see a rigid young man with a rather ridiculous mustache glaring at them from a nearby table. 

“Date not going well?” he asked, eyebrows raised.  
Heat rose in her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not a…” she mumbled. Her hands clenched at the sides of the dress she wore, clearly frustrated. Will’s smile only widened. She was quite possibly the most adorable person he had ever seen. 

Finally, she sighed. “My mother set us up.” 

Will tipped his glass back, eyebrows raised. “Ah.”

The girl pouted (or was it only the natural curve of her lips?). She couldn’t have been more than 20, her dark hair long and untampered with across prominent collar bones. She didn’t look as though she’d put much effort into her appearance at all; clear but unpainted skin, fresh and smooth, lips that might once have had gloss on them, but had been washed away by the wine she still held in her hand. Yet, for all her lack of effort, she was radiant. He felt younger just looking at her, more real, somehow. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

“What would you like me to do?”

Her face lit up, and in that moment, he would have given her anything in the world. “I’ve told Albert,” her face scrunched in distaste, “that you’re my professor, so if you could just look like you’re saying something insightful I would appreciate it.”

Will looked again at Albert, quietly seething at the table, back ramrod straight and mouth pressed into a tight line. There was no way that he believed for a second that Will was her professor, or at least, that he was only her professor. But Will found that he didn’t want the game to end, and if it would keep this rare girl in front of her for a minute more?

He straightened, tried to look as much like he was giving a private lecture as possible. “What’s your name?” 

The girl nodded a little more enthusiastically than necessary. “Victoria. Yours?”

“Will. I would shake your hand, but that might look a bit suspicious.”

Victoria giggled. “A bit.”

“Victoria!” Albert had gotten up, unnoticed by either of them. He placed a hand possessively over her shoulder. “Come back now, I am sure your professor understands that this is not the time.” The voice, slightly accented, held none of the warmth that Will already somehow sensed the girl deserved, and he bristled in spite of himself.  
“No,” he said, and Victoria’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, I’m afraid this is very important. You’ve misunderstood the point entirely, Victoria, and the paper has to be redone.” It was vague, and stupid, and in that moment, he had no idea what even compelled him to lie, but she turned to Albert, clearly keen to snatch up what little he had offered in the way of an excuse.  
“I really can’t fail this. I’m sorry.”

Will didn’t speak one word of German, but Victoria evidently did because though the words that accompanied Albert’s exit were incomprehensible to him, Victoria flinched. 

“Not pleased, I take it?”

She laughed, a sound that seemed to fill every corner of the room. “Not in the least. Thanks so much for going along with that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Should we shake hands now?” she asked, offering her small palm for him to take. He dared to reach for it, engulfing it in his own hand rather than shaking it.

“I think we know each other much too well for that now.”

“Do we, Professor?”

\--  
“Drina, this is madness! Did you expect us to be glad that you brought this man into our home?”

Will, the man in question, pushed his chair away from the table, readying himself for a quick exit. He had seen enough unhappy mothers in his day to know when he should slip away, but Victoria reached a staying hand to his thigh. 

“I expected you to be happy for me, Mamma. Will is kind and smart, and apart from English, everything you’re always telling me to look for in a man.”  
Will could’ve told Victoria this was the wrong approach. Her mother stood up, flinging her napkin onto the table with such force that it flew onto her husband’s plate. John, for his part, didn’t even glance up from his dinner, his air of one so assured that his wife would win the battle.

“He is married!” the woman shrieked.

“She’s dead!” Victoria shrieked, her grip on his thigh so tight now that it was painful. He didn’t have room in his head to be shocked at the crassness of the statement.

“Yes, and before that she ran off with another man.”

Victoria spluttered, jumping to her feet. Her chair clattered to the floor, but she ignored it. “And that’s his fault?!”

Will sat back arms crossed at his chest, torn between the desire to laugh at the notion that Victoria was being forced to defend his honor, and to take up the shouting with her. She seemed to have the matter in hand though. He settled for what he hoped was a bland expression.

He could tell from the look on her mother’s face, though, that the woman had a notion of exactly whose fault it was if I wife was forced to search for pleasure elsewhere. It didn’t matter. He was used to it.

Her mother continued as though she hadn’t heard Victoria’s defense. “He is far too old!” 

The words stung a little, but Will had been telling Victoria that he was too old for her for three months now, though he dreaded the day when she would finally agree. 

“I. Will. Not.” Victoria’s voice shook, the veins on her neck bulging, “have you speak to us this way. Will makes me happy, and if that makes you unhappy then you are no mother at all.” 

John’s fork chimed against his plate as it fell from his fingers, the clock on the wall ticked by the endless seconds. Victoria’s mother’s breath was harsh and ragged, but she didn’t say a word. Will looked between mother and daughter, searching for some sign that the tension would break, that Victoria might apologize, but there was none, and they were out the door without another word.

Outside, the wind bit at them a different kind of harshness than the one inside. Victoria shivered violently, whether from anger or chill he couldn’t tell, but Will slipped out of his jacket all the same, draping it over her shoulders. The car was parked just in front of them, but Will could feel the energy thrumming inside of her and so when she set off down the pavement he didn’t try to stop her. 

“I hate them.” They were several strides away from the house and her pace was slowing, realization finally setting in that she had no destination. “I told you that I didn’t want you to meet them. I told you they were…that they were…” she waved back in the direction of the house, “like that.”

He could see the tears forming in her eyes. They made his heart sink. “I didn’t mind. Really.” He reached for her arm, but she yanked it out of his grasp.

“I mind! She’s never loved me, do you know that? Oh, she wanted me, like a doll she could take out when she felt like it. Always wanted me near. Didn’t want me at school. Didn’t want me to have friends, no life for ‘little Drina’, but she didn’t love me.”

Victoria adopted to the thick accent of her mother, nose haughtily tilted toward the sky, “‘Drina has a temper’, ‘Drina does not know what is best for her.’, ‘Yes, John, you’re right, she must be punished, I have been too lax with her.’” 

Now it was Will’s turn to shiver. What on earth had her childhood been like? 

“I was locked in that house for 17 years!” she screamed, pointing violently back. “And I let them do it because I wanted them to love me. Fucking Christ, I’m her daughter.” She was shaking now, and this time when Will put his arm out to her she didn’t pull away. She sagged against him, her knees buckling so that his hold was the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground. But she wasn’t afraid of that. She didn’t have to be.

“When did she decide not to love me? What did I do?” she sobbed, clutching at his shirt. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” he assured her, because he didn’t need to have been there to know that. His son had had William’s love from the moment he was born until the moment of his last breath, not because he’d done anything to earn it, or to keep it, but because it had always been his, stored away for him in some secret compartment Will hadn’t even known had been there. 

“Victoria, you didn’t do anything.” He stroked her hair, oblivious to the passersby on the street who stared at them. “And if you never want to see them again, then I will support you.”  
“I love you.” The words were thick with tears, but Will was sure he’d never heard anything so beautiful.

“I love you, too.” It was too soon, probably. He didn’t care. 

She pulled away, face puffy, eyes swollen. “Even like this?” she tried to tease, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“You are perfect, and if I ever forget to remind you of that you can slap me.”

The words had their intended effect. She smiled, if a tremulous, sad, thing. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Sir.”

He gave a mock bow. “I never do, Ma’am. 

\--  
There was blood on her shirt, and the fluorescent lights of the A & E turned her skin nearly translucent. She sat on the bed, her legs swinging, eyes roaming the little curtained cubicle they found themselves in. “Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me,” she complained, letting out a huff of air. 

“You hit your head.” Will barely recognized his own voice, hoarse and far away.

She scrutinized him, head tilted to the side, searching and coming up empty. “Do I look concussed to you?” She hopped off the bed, tugging at the curtain.

“Would you sit down?!” 

Victoria jumped at his shout. The guilt washed over him instantly and he worked to make his face softer than the scowl he knew must be there.  
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.

What was wrong with him? One moment they’d been driving down the road, Victoria turning the car’s stereo up as her favorite song came on. He’d looked over for just a second. Her joy when she danced, even in the car, was infectious, and he’d wanted just a glimpse of it. And then, the sudden jolting stop, Victoria’s scream, the seconds of confusion, looking over and seeing the blood on her face as she pushed herself away from the dashboard she’d slammed into. Just a second of distraction, and he could have lost her for it. And, really, was it even surprising? Will had been waiting for the cataclysmic event that would separate them, as he knew it must, but he didn’t want her hurt, couldn’t bear the idea of it.

“I,” he tried, wanting to reach for her, but seeing the fury in her eyes. “My wife died,” he said lamely.

The heat in her expression evaporated, replaced by concern. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “Will, are you okay? Did you hit your head too?”

He caught her hand as it fell from his face. “My wife died. My son died. You could’ve died. I am a curse, Victoria.” 

“Oh, no, Will.” Her voice was impossibly soft. He blinked and she was in his lap, her hand running through his hair. “Will, that’s not true.”

Without meaning to, he wrapped his arms around her, his forehead dipped to her middle. She curved around him, sheltering him from the world, her whispered assurances like soft rain against a rooftop. He was shaking, but she only held him tighter, chin dipped into his hair. “They’re gone,” he choked, the words a key to floodgates he hadn’t even known were close at hand. His first sob was so violent that their bodies pitched forward as one, but he held fast. 

“I know, love.” She said. “I’m so sorry, but it is not you, alright? It’s not fair, it’s awful, but it is not you.”

He nodded as her lips pressed against the top of his head. The tears fell so fast that he couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter, he felt her all around him, knew that she wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t judge, would simply love him. “I almost lost you.”

“You didn’t.” She promised. “It was a little accident. I’m alright. I’m right here, Will.”

“I know I should, but I can’t let you go.” Indeed, it seemed that Victoria was the only thing anchoring him to the world right now.

What followed was the gentlest scoff he had ever heard. “I wouldn’t even if you asked. That’s a promise.”

If the doctor who came in shortly after found it odd that one of her patients was tangled together with a man in the small, plastic chair, she didn’t have the heart to say anything.  
\--  
Every time Will closed his eyes he saw Alexander’s hand on her thigh, taking advantage of the fact that her short blue dress had ridden to an almost obscene height. Victoria hadn’t seemed to even notice that the man’s eyes were fixed on her as she danced. She’d been drunk, and too close, her inhibitions gone. 

Will hadn’t moved from his position at the bar. He’d refused to dignify her behavior with a response. But his anger had risen with each passing moment, and by the time she stumbled back over to him, smelling of sweat, he’d been nearly livid. 

“What is your problem?” she asked for the thousandth time, slamming the door behind them and stomping into the living room. 

“My problem?” he asked, tone light, but expression taut.

“I don’t have one,” she said, balanced precariously on one leg as she tried to pry her heel off her right foot. She wrenched it free, losing her balance and collapsing onto the sofa in a fit of giggles. 

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head as he knelt in front of her, slipping her other shoe off. “You should rest.” There was none of his usual tenderness in his voice, he knew. He needed to get out, get some air, get away from her until he could wash away the image of her dancing with Alexander. 

He turned away, making for the door, but suddenly a heel flew past his shoulder, striking the wall in front of him. He wheeled around, disbelief coloring his features. “You are a child,” he said, voice filled with quiet malice.

“You’re a controlling bastard!” She shouted, face red, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. 

Behind his eyelids, Alexander’s hand slid up Victoria’s thigh. She leaned into him and he looked at her hungrily. The scene shifted. He was looking out the window of his old house to where George leaned against his car, casual and confident, cigarette at his lips. Behind him, Caro dragged her suitcase to the door. “He makes me feel free.” He didn’t turn to look at her, just watched from the window as George spotted her and she practically ran into his arms.

“I don’t want to control you,” he said, to Victoria, to Caro. 

He was not enough, would never be enough. He shouldn’t have tried, shouldn’t have let himself love this girl who needed, deserved, the world. He felt his past and his present colliding so violently that the room seemed to press in on him. He was holding Augustus’ hand as the little boy drifted off to sleep, guilt rising in his chest because his son’s grief and fear were causes for his own contentment. He was back in the room with Victoria, and she was staring up at him, needing him to be more and he didn’t have anything in his soul left to offer her. She was Caro, fearless and bold, tiptoeing to the edge of the world and he wouldn’t follow, so she leapt with another. He was at his son’s funeral. Not enough. Not enough. He wanted to grab hold of the boy’s hands, hold them. “He’s afraid of the dark!” he wanted to shout, but there were no words, and his little boy was locked away in a casket, unreachable, beyond fear. It was Will who was afraid now, as the whole world turned to darkness around him. Caro, gone, Augustus, gone. He couldn’t hold on to them. He wasn’t strong enough, good enough. If he’d just held them tighter, or known when to let go. He’d never learned. Victoria was going to run off with Alexander, or a man like him, and Will wasn’t at all sure that he would survive a second time. 

He was on his knees. How had he gotten there? Victoria held his hands in her small ones. “I want you to be free,” he choked out. 

“I am. It was stupid of me. I’m an idiot.” She laid her forehead against his. “I wanted to make you jealous. I don’t know why. It was nice to have the attention. But I love you, Will. Forgive me.” Her fingers drew circles against his skin, her breath warm and tinted with alcohol. 

He wanted to believe her. Nothing in his life had taught him to. 

“I was in a cage, Will. My whole life. I know what it’s like to be controlled. It’s all I know. That’s not you. It’s not.”

“I’ve got too many demons, Victoria.”

She smiled, brushing her lips against his. “They match well with mine.”

\--  
So many things that he regretted, a lifetime full of mistakes, missteps. He’d been so reluctant to believe that Victoria wouldn’t be one of them, that she’d be the light at the end of the tunnel, but he’d started to. She’d promised and he’d vowed. They’d laid their souls bare. And as soon as he’d found the will to hope? He found himself committing her, turning from her when she needed him most because he was lost. She needed something, and once more he was powerless to give it. And if he couldn’t pull her back? Another, fatal regret. 

So, he would. He would change the pattern. He had to. For both of them.


End file.
